


Dread It, Run From It, Destiny Still Arrives.

by discolouration



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix it fic because boy did Cersei's ending suck, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Revenge, i miss her ok, yes missandei is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 09:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discolouration/pseuds/discolouration
Summary: It's been a long time coming, but Cersei's time is up. And she is wrong; in the great game, you don't only win or die, there are, after all, things far worse than death.





	Dread It, Run From It, Destiny Still Arrives.

It was a long, dark and freezing ride north. To Winterfell, the journey was rough, metal chains pressed against her thin fragile wrists. Extra tight and leaving blue bruises, Ned Stark’s daughter had saw to that. She had also made sure that the crate she would be thrown and locked in like a beast, an animal untamed, was small enough to be excruciatingly uncomfortable. With her limbs folded up tightly, unable to move for days, maybe over a week, starving and dehydrated for most of each day, the travel to the kingdom of her trial (if they’d grant her that much) or execution was torture in itself.

Everything had happened so fast at first, she remembers in great detail the look of agony on Jamie’s face as he stood across the map room. He stood tall and firm, tense but tough. It had registered to her that he should be dead, she had sent Ser Bron, that excuse of a knight to murder him and the imp. She hadn’t realized until now how glad she was that he was alive, that even as her army rung the bell she still had her claws in one last puppet. She feared death, which had looked her straight in the face not too far from the Red Keep’s window with two pairs of dragon eyes: large black ones and small green ones. But Jamie was here and she was dying to grasp him and work him with her words as fast as her tongue could move, to make him take her to safety, where they could hide and rebuild their allies —yes,  _ their _ allies, as she had no one left then, thus, all was forgiven and forgotten. That is until she’s in power again—however as his expression of sorrow widdled away, she was left with a different look in his eyes she didn’t like. It was one she never saw from him before. It was almost her father’s stare, only not as cold, but strong and not dismissing but moving on. He looked at her with pity for who she was, rather,  _ what  _ she was. Jamie Lannister had woken up for good. He stood independently, he brought his good hand to grip the handle. Oathkeeper. Ned Stark’s sword reforged, the sword their father offered him with Casterly Rock instead of her, that he shared with that beast of a woman, Brienne of Tarth… Cersei’s jaw clenched for a moment, only to be brought back to reality. Jamie did not look happy or scared for either of them, nor for their child, a statement he ate right up when she told him about it months ago. He looked sombre but… somehow, loose. Extricated.

It came crashing on her. Not Jamie, not Jamie, he was the only one she knew she’d always be able to count on lifting her up, why he’d do anything for her. He’d  _ done everything _ for her. But that hard look pierced her through and through. Panicking to pull him back to her end, she smiled and let out a half laugh half exhale of relief.

“Jamie! You’re here… you came-”

All pitty that was once in his eyes vanished, it cut the words coming up her throat.

 

Silence hung in the stale air she could barely breathe.  _ Not Jamie.  _ He was free, from her, from the Lannister name, from the reputation that weighed him down in his mind, and controlled him. Jamie, oathkeeper, man of honour, was done with the Great Game, and he would leave with his life and self-worth in his own hands for the first time in all his years.

“So it's done than,” she whispered.

He looked past her to his tiny companion standing in the shadows behind her, “It is.”

Oh, everything had happened so fast indeed. The fleet and gates in mere moments, before the bells rang and the Dragon Queen halted the attack. Seeing Jamie and walking out of the castle with the ned of a blade like a needle poking the small of her back, urging her forward until she was marched in front of her enemies as the commoners returned to their stable, unscratched homes. It had happened fast, when she was taken into a private carriage sheltered from the unsullied and northern men’s eyes and had the Targaryen's advisor girl confiscate her fine, expensive velvet dress and give her trousers and a top like rags for slaves in Essos with a fur cloak to go over. “It’ll be cold during your long travels, do stay warm.” Missandei remarked dispassionately.

It was being in the crate that felt like eons. As her throat dried so badly it hurt to breathe, she wouldn’t be able to hold the impulse of opening her mouth as wide as possible then water was poured in between the cracks of the roof, spilling all over her. It felt neverending as her stomach rumbled for days and had no sunlight but the sliver from the cracks between the wood, never let out once to stretch from the crouching stance for days or to use a toilet chamber.

When they arrived, she remembered the crate roughly being dropped down on the floor, and that she was indoors, she remembers the roof opening and not getting to see the sky, she remembered the agony in her locked muscles and joints that refused to move from staying in place for so long. She remembered having to be yanked out from the crate and screaming out in pain from moving her body into a standing position. “Reeks of fucking piss!” The Hound hollered in disgust. She dropped to the stone floor, unable to stand. She became aware of the stench from her rags and fur cloak once not confined in a box and out in open air.

“I’m done with her, I’ve had all my fun hearing her weep on the way here.” the young assassin said smugly from behind her. Cersei grit her teeth despite the pain, her nose twitched. “I may come to visit her every now and then though, if I ever get too bored.” Cersei found the strength to raise her head and look at the person in front of her as she laid at their feet. “Well,” she sighed, “she’s all your’s, Lady Stark.”

She looked up and did not see the little naive girl from King’s Landing all those years ago. She looked up once again… and stared fear and death in the face. She spoke with poison through grit teeth, words of welcoming the gods and greeting the afterlife with gratitude. Sansa chuckled for a second.

“You’ll only wish you were dead.” The sentence rang in her ears. It was the last words she heard before being thrown into the cold cell, submerged in darkness, waiting for the first visit of punishment out of the thousands that she would receive from that day, until her last day.


End file.
